


A Point of View

by mintchocolate_gelato



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:33:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintchocolate_gelato/pseuds/mintchocolate_gelato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew and Alfred are caught in a clan dispute far older than they are, but feuds know no greater enemy than two lovers caught in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Point of View

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [PoisnousPixie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisnousPixie/pseuds/PoisnousPixie)  
> Written for the AmeCan Secret Santa. And it's super super super late, I am so so sorry.  
> For [starry-climes](http://starry-climes.tumblr.com/) and the prompt "Matthew and Alfred as vampire enemies who fall in love"
> 
> A note on the warnings:  
> There is nothing Christmacy about this whatsoever.  
> The warning for character death does not apply to either of the boys in question, but heed it anyway if it upsets you to see your faves meet a bitter end. In addition there is some minor violence towards kids and another hetalia character, but nothing explicit.  
> Also the smut is blink and you miss it, sorry about that.

_Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately and so shall we. For no creatures under God are as we are, none so like him as ourselves.  
Anne Rice_

 

1889

How do you kill a vampire?

Matthew Williams knows three foolproof ways. Three ways he has seen with his own eyes.

One: Wood to the heart, pure oak or hawthorn, a swift movement right between the ribs (it must be swift, or a vampire's speed will always outrun you). A heart is the physical manifestation of a soul, purify it with wood and the monster stops. If you miss the heart however, you have failed and you must certainly will die.

Two: Fire. You must burn the body to ashes, without a body the monster can't go on, the flesh prison is the only thing that keeps him anchored to this world. But beware, no vampire will sit still as fire consumes them, and no mortal made rope will hold them either.

Three: The sun. A vampire's greatest enemy. A minute under its scorch will burn the flesh, melt the bones to ashes. An older vampire will last longer under these holy rays, but they too will be consumed to ash in the end.

Matthew recites these rules under his breath as he walks inside the Royal Opera House, hauling a barrel of wine with one hand, carrying the fragile body of a twelve year old sick with consumption, under the other.

The sky is pink in the horizon, as weak as the rays of the coming sun are, they still burn Matthew's skin, leaving pink blotches that fade as soon as he finds shade.

It's risky, Matthew is barely 116 years old, and certainly not strong enough to repel the effect of the sun. But this is the only way he can do this unnoticed.

There must be a hundred vampires sleeping under the wooden structure of the theatre, all of them knew Matthew since he was a fledgling. Some even loved him, some were his friends. But that isn't something Matthew can afford to think on right now. If they get caught in the crossfire they are nothing but collateral damage.

He doesn't cross a single soul in his way, everyone is sleeping in the underground vaults, under the theatre's foundation.

The labyrinth of hallways and rooms would have confused anyone else, but Matthew has walked these halls a thousand times. He walks straight, hauling the barrel of wine behind him, flinching when it scrapes the ground too loud.

As he arrives to the hallway leading to Arthur's room, he stops for one second and lifts the boy in his arms. His breathing is weak and smells of death and sickness, all Matthew has to do is put his hand over his mouth and nose and press hard, until he feels no more air coming out of that tiny mouth. 

The body is still warm when Matthew stands in front of Arthur's door. He leaves the barrel outside, and lifts his knuckles to knock, but the door opens before he can, Arthur must have smelt the human in his arms.

How do you kill a vampire?

You stare him in the face.

Arthur takes the boy in his arms, barely acknowledges Matthew or anything else. The red of his eyes betrays his hunger, Matthew calculates it has been at least five days since he last fed. It's a risk he must take, with the hunger comes violence, Arthur could pick a fight, he could refuse the food offering, he could even attack Matthew and drink his blood.

But he doesn't, though the frown of his brow is more pronounced and his arms are trembling with effort, he seems to have kept the hunger at bay, at least until the boy's neck is bared for him. 

Arthur practically devours him, his fangs sink messily on the boy's neck, they tear flesh and muscle and vein, and his mouth is instantly covered in crimson carnage. He looks like a beast, not a vampire, like the uncivilised creatures of fiction.

But that's how hunger works for them, while humans waste away and grow weaker, hunger make their kind into monsters.

If Matthew were human, such a display of gore and savagery would made him sick, but although his stomach turns his vampire body can't do anything but feel disgust to the very core.

He turns his head away from the scene, until the gargling and tearing noises stop, and the boy's limp body falls to the blood covered floor.

"Com' here m' boy," Arthur coos. His mouth, his shirt and his hands are all covered with blood, and if Matthew hadn't seen that sight before he'd be tempted to run in the opposite direction. But he goes, just like the dutiful servant he's always been; Arthur pushes him down, and kisses him, hard on the mouth. His eyes widen, and the taste of sour blood fills his mouth, and he silently prays Arthur can't taste Alfred's in his.

It takes Arthur less than a second after the kiss breaks to realize he has been played, whether the foul taste of the blood finally tips him off, or the lingering presence of Alfred on Matthew's lips. He stares at Matthew with red eyes that now resemble their usual emerald, like he can't quite figure out what happened.

"You..." He lunges forward, nails forming into claws, fangs bared, there is nothing left of his maker in the moment. All that remains is the monster that took Matthew's human life away.

Matthew inhales hard (old habits die hard), but he doesn't move from the vampire's path, he doesn't have to. As soon as Arthur makes contact with him, they both fall stumbling to the floor, the vampire is out cold. Matthew can almost hear his voice a hundred years ago, like it was yesterday: dead man's blood is poison Matthew, if you drink it you will be weak and vulnerable for days.

Well, he was counting on that.

He pushes Arthur's body off of him, and scrambles up to his feet, he looks back one last time, at his maker splayed out on the floor, and dashes out of the room.

What happens next is a blurr.

How do you kill a vampire, Matthew?

The wine barrel he'd brought still stands outside of Arthur's rooms, it is almost dawn, and there is no one in sight. Matthew doesn't warn them, he doesn't make a sound as he gets to work. He douses Arthur's door with wine, every inch of the wooden floor of his bedroom, every book in the shelves, every pillow and piece of flammable furniture. He doesn't pour anything on Arthur's body, the rest will do the job he is too much of a coward to do himself. He empties the remains of the barrel by the door over the hallway, not blocking the way to anyone who could escape, but making sure it's not an easy task. They will go after him, they will try to hunt him, giving them this chance is Matthew's only penance.

How do you kill a vampire, Matthew?

Like this. His hands don't shake as he pulls the match box from his pocket, they don't shake as he takes one out and lights it. He stares at the flame for one second, two seconds, but before the third can pass, he tosses the burning match to the wet patch on Arthur's door. The fire catches in an instant.

How do you kill a vampire, Matthew?

With fire.

With love.

~

_  
1849_

_Matthew first meets Alfred at a masked ball to which he isn't invited. He slips in unnoticed, protected by the harlequin porcelain mask on his face, he is on strict orders to spy on Francis Bonnefoy, the leader of the Paris Clan and to report back to Arthur in the fortnight._

_He never ends up doing any of that. His Quebecois raises eyes, and brings him to the attention of some of the most prominent vampires in Paris. All intent on taking him to bed with them._

_But it is Alfred who achieves it, he smiles at Matthew from under his white phantom mask, and Matthew is lost._

_Alfred takes him to the roof to see the stars, and later maps constellations on Matthew's back with his mouth. He speaks in a sweet French with an accent Matthew doesn't recognize, and Matthew trembles under him._

_"What made you come to me?" Matthew asks after the fact, while they are laying down in bed, the fresh corpse of a girl drained of blood lying carelessly at the foot of their bed. "Why me?"_

_Alfred seems to think about it for a moment, though he'd later admit he knew the answer already, "I liked your eyes."_

_Good riddance, Matthew likes Alfred's eyes too._

~

1889

The chaos that takes over the city is palpable, even after Matthew leaves the theatre. A small bookstore at the end of the street serves as his refuge until the sun goes down again. He didn't stay to see the flames engulf the polished wood and the coffins of the family that raised him. But as he runs down the London streets, the smoke coming off the opera house is unmistakable in the sky, the air is darkened and black and thick with fumes.

Matthew takes a ship down the Thames with a ticket purchased months ago. He leaves with nothing but a purse full of gold coins and a small jar of dirt from English soil, more of a memento than a necessity. He wasn't made in England, the crate of dirt of the land where Arthur made him probably burnt with everything else in the Opera house. But he doesn't need it anymore where he is going.

It takes seven miserable days to make port in Newfoundland, seven days of living in the gallows away from the sun, feeding off rats, and one lone unlucky sailor, who as the official report will say, suffered a terrible accident and fell to the sea after a bad storm.

When the boat stops Matthew emerges, his clothes tattered and dirty, his skin paler than ash, his eyes a deep red with hunger. He feeds off a dying girl he picks off the street with a gold coin, and pays for a train ticket. The state of his clothes almost has him barred off the train, but there is nothing that a few placed words can't do, and they let him in the poorest part of economic class. There he blends with orphans, students, and workers, his tattered clothes and bad smell make him a part of the group, and that's good, the more he blends the least likely he is to be discovered so soon.

The train makes a stop in Quebec two days later, and Matthew gets off, avoiding the crowds of the train station. He pays for a carriage to take him to Rue Saint Paul, where he gets off at the end of a the street to a group of luxury apartments, of which he owns the third floor.

Home sweet home, he thinks as he pays the driver. But as he takes in the city of his childhood, all he sees is black smoke in the sky, and a lurking shadow waiting for him.

~  
_  
1868_

_He thinks it'll stop then, thinks that'll be the first and the last time. But every time he goes back to Paris he meets Alfred, sometimes on the rooftops of cathedrals so they can see the stars, other times in back alleys where Alfred pushes him hard against the wall._

_When it isn't enough anymore, Alfred follows him back to London in the gallows of a ship. Follows him straight to Arthur's territory, where he isn't welcomed._

_They catch him before Matthew even knows he is being followed. He comes back to the theatre after feeding one night only to find Alfred tied down by the entrance. His body full of cuts and bruises, his eyes are red, and if he doesn't eat soon he is going to go feral. He has lost too much blood, and has clearly not eaten in days. Tgere is no one around watching him, even as weak as Alfred is, Matthew doesn't think Arthur would be so careless as to leave an enemy unsupervised. As he starts undoing Alfred's bounds, he knows he is walking right into a trap._

_He confirms he was right when Arthur doesn't even ask what happened the next day, when he finds Alfred is gone. Instead Arthur snaps his fingers and a pair of hands drag Matthew to the ground, and tie him up with the same bloodied garlic ropes that were around Alfred's wrists._

_He's left like that for days, until he is so blind with hunger that nothing else in his mind registers._

_They bring him a girl in the eighth day, a human who sometimes flirts with him when she is preparing bread for her family's bakery before dawn._

_Matthew doesn't remember her name is Katya as she devours her with a thirst he hasn't felt in years. But when he comes out of the trance and sees the girl's body on the ground, he almost cries._

_Arthur orders him to never go to Paris again, and this time he obeys._  
  
~

1889

Matthew unlocks the door with a heavy brass key, but there is no one inside. Bile begins to rise in his throat, and panic makes his hands shake a little.

The gas lamps of the apartment are turned off, but the wallpaper flickers with light coming from the inside. He rushes in, barely sparing a thought to this being a trap or something worse. He stumbles into spiderwebs he can't see in the poor light of the room, over broken furniture and moldy carpets, he races so quickly to the bedroom that he misses all the little signs of life he should have noticed: The drops of fresh blood on the carpet, and the remains of burnt candles on the floor.

But there is no sign of anything burning, no smell of death or decay. How do you kill a vampire? However you do it, it leaves signs, and there are none to be found here.

Matthew pushes the door to the bedroom, and it creaks noisily in the otherwise stillness of the apartment. The wallpaper is worn at the edges, stained with water and humidity, but other than that the room is exactly like Matthew remembers. He tiptoes over the wood, towards the flicker of light of a candle in the corner. If his heart were capable of beating, it would be about to explode out of his chest. He feels excitement, rush, and fear all at the same time

~  
__  
1885

_Arthur never told him when the feud with Francis started. All Matthew knew, from the moment he was a young fledgling, was that Paris vampires were scum, that they were savage and uncivilized, that they engaged with humans in obscene acts, and that not one could stop their blood lust. There were rumours all over England that the Paris clan ate other vampires as much as they did humans._

_Alfred doesn't know why the fight started either. But he tells Matthew that in Paris everyone talks of the same type of treason from the English clan._

_The way he talks about Francis, Matthew almost believes he is in love with him. He talks of him with passion and hatred thinly veiled in all of his sentences._

_"Do you love him?" He asks finally, taking Alfred's hand in his as if to say that whatever the answer Matthew won't go anywhere. They are on the rooftop of a Belgian chocolate maker because Alfred likes sweet smells and the stars. They haven't met in Paris or London again, but there is plenty of land in between._

_"I used to," Alfred responds with a smile that Matthew recognizes as his own once upon a time. "A hundred years of intrigue and jealousy makes you change your mind."_

_Matthew knows the feeling. When Arthur had made him, there was a time where he would have done anything for him. Arthur had been the moon and the stars and the sky condensed into a single entity, where his blood called Matthew, Matthew went. But even the magic of the maker faded._

_"We'll never be free of them." Whispers Matthew, studying the lines on Alfred's palm "They will never let us go."_

_Alfred is silent for a long time, letting Matthew caress the palm of his hand as he stares above them at the stars. And abruptly he turns to kiss Matthew on the lips, and his eyes go bright like they do when he tells Matthew about the stars, like a boy playing with his first toy, "We can leave." He says, and turns fully to look at Matthew, grabs him by the shoulders as if that would make Matthew understand, "Run away, go back to America! Come with me."_

_Matthew turns, his eyes half lidded and expression hesitant, he wants to believe they could do it but nothing adds up in his head, "But how?"_

_And then everything quiets, and Alfred says the only thing Matthew can think about that would free them from this mess, something he would never dare say out loud, "We could kill them."_

_Matthew laughs, not because he finds it particularly funny, but because that's what Alfred expects isn't it. He is kidding, of course, and Matthew is supposed to laugh at his antics and kiss him. Except, there is nothing not serious in Alfred's tone, no smile on his face, not even that playful nudge that permanently tugs at the corner of his mouth._

_Matthew's laughter stops abruptly when Alfred's expression doesn't change, and his eyes widen considerably, "You are serious?"_

_It is technically possible, he guesses. Both Matthew and Alfred know exactly where their masters are, what they do, who they see, where they sleep._

_"You said it yourself. They will never let us go. Francis would kill me before he let that happen."_

_Silence stretches between them. Arthur would kill Matthew too, rather than see him go off with Alfred. And if he escaped, Arthur would hunt him down, he didn't expect any different from Francis._

_"They'll find us. They'll find us, and they'll kill us, Alfred. And then we won't even have this, any of this. None of your stupid stars." It comes out angrily but only to mask the fear underneath. Alfred picks up on it and doesn't let the fear swallow them both, he takes Matthew's face silently between his hands and brings their foreheads together softly pressing against each other._

_"Maybe." Alfred says, but he doesn't sound unsure at all, his confidence makes Matthew sick. "But maybe not."_  
  
~

1889

Alfred is there, curled up in a white blanket by the window. His clothes are covered in dried blood, and there is a very visible bruise covering the entire right side of his face. It is a feat to leave a vampire with such a noticeable mark for more than a few hours, let alone days. Whoever did this to Alfred, could have killed him.

Matthew kneels down in front of him, and Alfred looks up at him fearful, his eyes as red as Matthew's own. And Matthew wants desperately to erase that look from his lover's face, to never have to see it so stricken with fear again.

"Mattie..?" Alfred asks fearfully, as if he can't quite believe his eyes. "Mattie, y-you are alive.. I thought.."

It's been three days since the date they agreed to meet at these apartments. Three days Alfred was probably wondering if Arthur had killed him, or something worse.

By way of apology he wraps his arms around Alfred's neck, and pulls him closer, cold skin against cold skin but it feels warm somehow. He traces soothing circles on Alfred's back, and carefully checks for injuries, but quickly realizes the blood caked on Alfred's clothes is not his own.

"Did you..." Matthew says but trails off, unable to finish the thought just yet. It feels too unreal.

Alfred doesn't respond, probably thinking the same thing Matthew is thinking. They need to talk about what happened to each of them, in Paris and in London, but not now. This moment is for them.

And like clockwork, like perfectly tuned instruments, they move.

Matthew tears at Alfred's bloodstained shirt, Alfred grabs fistfuls of Matthew's hair. They bring each other together in a kiss that feels more like a prayer, a constant stream of they are dead, he's alive, he's fine, he's here. Their kiss is careless, messy, less an expression of love and more of relief. Their fangs brush against each other's tongues, slicing through the flesh, and filling their mouths with each other's blood.

As soon as Matthew gets the first taste, he can't stop. He breaks the kiss and dives for Alfred's neck instead, he bites hard just where the neck meets jugular and Alfred whimpers right against his ear. The wound heals too quickly for Matthew to drink much, but what little he drinks makes him feel alive again.

Blood is dripping down his chin when Alfred kisses him again. They tug at each other's coats, and pants, until their skin is rubbing against skin, and they are bare in more than once sense.

They feed only off each other that night, nipping softly at their flesh and licking the few drops of blood that bubble in the wound. It won't sate them for long, but tonight is enough. For tonight they are both enough.

Their mouths meet, their legs entwine, and when Matthew slides inside Alfred the constellations are suddenly behind their eyes. It's quick and messy and real, the wooden floor creaks with their movements, the paintings of the walls rattle and fall. Matthew knows he's never felt so alive but in this moment, not even when he was actually alive, his heart might not beat but still jumps in his chest as Alfred moans his name against his mouth. What is being alive, if not this?

~  
__  
1888

_They part with a silent kiss, and a promise. To see each other alive again._

_Matthew arranges the meeting in his old apartments in Quebec, and gives Alfred the address written in curvy handwriting, and a golden key._

_Fear grips him as he watches Alfred's back disappear on the train to Paris, and it doesn't let go until he arrives in London the next day. In the hour long carriage to the Opera, he goes back on his promise a million times, making apologies and excuses for himself in his head._

_Arthur calls him to his rooms that night, and shares the blood of a boy of the same age Matthew was when he got turned. His blood tastes thick with disease and alcohol, but Matthew doesn't dare not drink._

_Arthur notices his disgust and his absent mindedness. He calls Matthew over closer, and Matthew hesitantly goes, and of course Arthur picks up on that too. He grabs Matthew by the shirt, brings him so close to his face Matthew can smell the blood in his mouth._

_For a moment Matthew thinks Arthur's going to kiss him, but he stops an inch shy of his lips, and bares his fangs to Matthew in a threatening manner. There is little Matthew can do, but show his neck in submission, the power his maker has over him has only faded so much, and he can't resist it, not this close._

_"It better not be the American again." Arthur says with a silky voice, threatening in a way that sends Matthew's metaphorical heart racing._

_And that's when Matthew decides. This can't continue._  
  
~

1889

When the world stops spinning, and they are both laying on the dusty bed with Alfred once again tracing constellations on Matthew's back, Matthew finally gets the courage to ask, "Is Francis gone?"

Alfred's hand stills for a moment, but resume just a minute later, if a bit distracted. "Yeah, he is."

"How.."

"I fought him. He saw it coming, said I had the look of love on my face, whatever that means." Alfred's hands twitch against his back, he knows exactly what Francis meant. "He smiled at me when I did it, I almost felt bad."

Matthew nods. He doesn't want to hear more, and it sounds like Alfred doesn't want to tell him more. Just as well.

"Arthur's gone too." Matthew says before Alfred has the chance to ask."I burnt it to the ground. The whole thing." He doesn't cry, even though he feels the burn of the tears at the corner of his eyes. He knows if he starts he might not stop, and today is not about those that burnt in the ashes, today is about him and Alfred.

They don't talk about how Francis' vampires will hunt them down, or how there is a possibility that someone survived the fire and will also come after them. They don't talk about leaving for New Orleans in a few days, or what they will do once they are there.

Instead, Matthew leans over and kisses Alfred's lips, softly, gently, with a calm he hasn't felt since this whole thing started. 

The past was and the future will be, all they have right now is the present. And everything else can wait.


End file.
